four dreams
I.) My sisters and I had killed a neighbour, a person who lived on the street where we grew up. I was appalled, and had never meant for that to happen. Whether it had been deliberate or an accident on their parts, I do not know, but they were nonchalant and pointedly unconcerned with it.

II.) I was in attendance at some large-scale amusement park, but rather than various rides and games being the fixtures and points of attraction, there was a wide array of natural habitats which the guests could traverse. Looking back, it was in some ways rather like an old quest-style video game: the ‘jungle board,’ the ‘water world,’ the ‘desert,’ and so forth. For the most part, everyone explored the areas on their own, and found their way from one to the next by their own means, whether by hiking through the terrain, or swimming when applicable, or by flying. There were also machines somewhere between a ski-lift and a bullet train which could transport people from one area or ‘world’ to another if anyone tired of an area and wanted to explore somewhere new. I entered onto a rocky outcropping overlooking a river which emerged from an underground tunnel. There were high cliffs on either side of the river which were in places covered with vines and tropical flowers. I leapt off the cliff and flew out across the river below me, flying with the current. I was about ten meters in the air; in places, I flew through a mist: the spray from the river crashing on the rocks. Occasionally, I saw small groups of people on the banks of the river, or scaling the cliffs; no one else was in flight. I followed the river for a mile or more in this way, until in the distance I spotted one of the lifts, and decided that I would get aboard. After I got in line, which began in an enclosed sort of ‘station,’ I noticed several people from my kwoon scattered throughout the room, most of them in line. They did not seem to be together, but one by one they noticed one another, and greeted each other with hugs and elabourate ‘secret’ handshakes which I did not recognise. I greeted a few of them and generally got a curt nod in response. I was feeling ousted and left out. One of my kung fu brothers noticed an older man across the room, with greying dreadlocks and a beard, and carrying a backpack. His eyes widened, and he turned to another person from the kwoon who was close to him in line. He ducked, and reached out to smack his knee to get his attention. When they had made eye contact, he indicated the older man. “That’s roots!” he said, and the other guy nodded in acknowledgment. The first guy was already looking around for other people in the school, to point out the older man. Several more times I heard him call out to someone “Hey! Yo! That’s roots over there! That’s a roots man!” Several of the students left their place in line to walk over to the man and greet him, shake his hand or give a hug, and to speak with him. I was feeling further in the dark by this point; first of all because no one else in the kwoon was saying anything to me about the roots man, and second, because of recalling an older dream or vision I had had earlier in the year where an older man had told me that I was a roots man, myself. Nearly everyone was out of line by this point, and ahead of me, the one who had first noticed the roots man had found one more person in line to inform. This last person was not someone from the kwoon, and was not anyone I recognised. Indeed, he looked very much like the roots man across the room; he, too, had grey dreads and a beard, and looked to be roughly the same age. He wore a bandanna, and feathers on a thong around his neck. He had wide eyes, and looked angry. “Yo, man!” the younger guy said. “That’s roots!” He indicated the man across the room. The other older man scowled at him, and challenged him. “What does it matter?” he asked. He would not go over and say anything to the other roots man, and stayed in line, facing in the wrong direction and glaring.
III.) Another flying dream. I forget the details of this one, aside from being outside, and the sky being an unusual beige colour. I remember flying in a spiral.
IV.) I was in a room with my father, who sat at a large wooden desk with a glass top. Next to him, facing to his left, a table had been set up at a right angle to his desk with a large Mackie board atop it. It must have had thirty-two channels. Joe, a Native American guy I met in South Dakota a little over a week ago, sat at the console, tweaking the knobs and adjusting the buses. I don’t remember if my father actually spoke, but I remember him telling me that he had bought the mix board for Joe to have, because he needed it.